


Foreign

by kthnotfound



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bad Flirting, Dream in denial for his feelings, Dream's POV, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Internal Conflict, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One-Sided Relationship, Possibly Unrequited Love, Secret Crush, are we flirting or is it just fan service, are we friends or nah is the question, dream are you okay, dreamnotfound, falling for your best friend sucks, george is a foreign exchange student, havent seen a hella angsty dnf fic so here it is, more tags to be added later much love, same energy as dream looping pov, slowburn, very angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kthnotfound/pseuds/kthnotfound
Summary: Push and pull, waiting and reaching but never quite getting a grasp— all of this started as a harmless joke: fan service. But when the playful jabs between George and him blur into something more, Dream descends into a spiral of endless questions on what's real or fake.or, in other words, Dream doesn't like complicated things, but Dream also likes George, and that— that is the difficult part.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	1. the in between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nani_xxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nani_xxx/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I usually write BTS fanfictions on Wattpad, but a friend of mine recently got me into the Dream fandom, and as a gift for her I wrote her this fic. It's my first time writing dnf, and I'm really excited to try something new, so I hope you guys like it (: 
> 
> As for shipping, I don't think it's right to force a relationship on real life people that we can interact with. So please, be respectful with your shipping, and I hope we have a good time together <3 I usually write with a playlist, but I actually got inspired by an album called "Plateaus" by Cape Francis. If you have the time, I suggest listening to 'Comatose' and 'Haunted' because I think it really suits the vibe of this book. If I manage to make a playlist, I'll link it. Enjoy the story! It's a long ride (:

_They say falling in love with your best friend is a mistake. It's begging for instant ruination, for some inevitable, abrupt end to everything you could ever need all because you couldn't control yourself._

_And you think, we're friends. There could be something there— something more. And you believe it, wholely, because liking a person is dangerous, foreign, and it feels like that because when you feel something as novel as love for the first time, it just feels right._

_But when you get those words out, that confession, this sudden dreads devours you. It takes over your heart so that all you can hear is your own blood crash in your ears, and it's like you're standing at the edge of the ocean, watching the tide about to reach your ankles except when you expect it to finally touch you, to connect with you, it doesn't._

_The words you think would cause you relief, causes you your happiness— your everything. And that's your fault. It's your fault for falling for something foreign, for disrupting the way waves collide with the shore._

_It's_ **_your_ ** _fault._  
  
  
  
  


•••  
  
  
  
  


He can't hear himself.

Dream stirs from his slumber, burying his face in his pillow and grasps at the sheets entangling his form. He expects to be soaked in sweat, to hear Patches' gentle meows above his head, lulling him to wake up and get on his day. And yet, as he lifts his head from his pillows, face scrunched in a daze, he can't hear anything— not even his own shallow breaths, or the pitter patter of his heart.

There's something drowning out the sound. Waves, he presumes, crashing, pelting the shore in a thunderous fury. Dream's brows furrow as he sits up, shoving his fingers through his hair, ruining it more than his pillow did. He surveys the room amid the blue darkness, blinking wearily, only to realize he isn't in his bedroom.

It's not his place. There's no monitor humming softly in his usual corner, or the gaming set-up he spent thousands of money on. No Patches lingering on his furniture, waiting for him with her little head tilted to the side. In fact, when he glances over his shoulder, the bedside appears larger as though he's slept with someone else, for the sheets are wrinkled by another warm body and the covers are shoved aside.

Weird, he thinks. He swallows, thickly, mouth bitter from the morning and a simple question he can't bring himself to form properly. _Where am I?_ Its his time to get out, and soon, the pads of his feet connect with cool hardwood instead of his familiar fluffy carpet.

Dream rubs a hand over his tired eyes, trying to blink the weariness away to become more aware, to become a little less _disconnected_. But when he gets up and wanders around the room, hand under his white shirt, scratching mindlessly at his stomach, it gets worse. The deafness; the crash.

It's disorienting, and he's unsure why he can't hear himself. It's like he's consumed by the noise, numbing him from his own heartbeat and the breath that proves he's very much alive. For a moment, he wonders, chest tightening, that maybe he's dead. Maybe this whiteness is heaven, and he died last night without knowing.

Although, it proves to not be the case (thankfully). He brings his hand to his chest, inhaling slowly, and he eases a little, those nerves of his, when he feels his chest thump. It's a dull thump, but nonetheless he's alive, so at least there won't be a news article declaring another random Florida man that has died of unexplainable causes.

However, he's still painfully confused, the question circling his end in an endless spiral. It looks like a condo, secluded in the middle of a beach judging by outside the windows where palm trees sway, and the sky above is a murky, endless blue that plateaus against a dark ocean and pale sand. But why? Why is here? Last night he was at home so why—

He swivels around, noticing the cool breeze tickling at the hairs on his neck isn't because of the whole eeriness of the situation. There's a glass door left ajar, and what seems to be footprints imprinted against the sand, leading out toward the shore. His lips collapse into a scowl, the confusion lining every crease on his features.

Dream steps closer, spots a lime green hoodie hanging over a wicker chair, and tosses it on to fight against the chill that greets his looming figure with an unexpected gust. Florida's never this cold, he thinks. Perhaps he got kidnapped, but then again, it doesn't seem right because there's no bruise on his body or a part of him that aches worse than his own heart.

There's no struggle except one within his own, and then again, who would want to kidnap him?

Or maybe, this is a dream. He hasn't had one of those in a while. A dream. A dream like _this_.

He steps outside, cautiously, and peers over at the distance where the footprints lead. His teeth chatter, arms naturally winding themselves around him. It's just the wind whips across his body, consuming him with every step, and the waves, that booming crash, devour him until his entire body rattles with every collision.

But what confuses him is that there's a body in the distance. If he squints and focuses his eyes a little, he can make out the figure of someone standing by the shore, staring out into the horizon. It's a shadow, a small body, and as he staggers in the sand toward it, confusion sparks into curiosity— a blaze waiting to be ignited.

"Hello?" He screams, the words ripping from his throat, but the person doesn't turn around when the waves are this deafening. Dream pushes forward, gritting his teeth with every breeze that envelops him whole as if it doesn't want him to meet them.

But he can't leave it be. He can't give up when curiosity is licking flames inside of him, evoking this sense of warmth he grows addicted to; dependent. If he keeps it up, it won't die, and if he stays warm, he won't leave. Dream logic is similar to reality, right?

Although, he can't feel anything: his feet, his face. It's like this numb hollowing, and god, his chest is tight. It squeezes each time he takes a step forward to this stranger, and when he finally reaches the body, Dream's stomach plummets seeing who the silhouette belongs to.

"George?" He shouts, vocals fighting against the ocean. He can barely hear anything now— but for some reason, his heart is amplified along with his breath. He can feel everything and nothing but only in reoccurring waves that topple him over like the ones on the seaside.

"George!" He screams again, running to him, fighting the current without knowing why. When he finally joins his side, he practically jumps to the spot beside him, their shoulders knocking together.

George turns his head to acknowledge him, and for a second, Dream really can't believe his eyes. It's him, actually _him_ , staring back at Dream with those wide eyes of his and that fond, crooked smile that suddenly evokes a tug in his stomach— a tug on his own mouth. Dream lets out a breath he doesn't realize he's holding in, and that smile— it ignites, and it flourishes inside of him with this _warmth_.

And Dream just laughs. He laughs, though unable to hear the way it squeezes effortlessly out of his throat, he does it anyway because this is George. The boy he's known for years now, in front of him, tangible, with no screen or continent or desk to separate them.

It's his best friend, beside him, and this rush of heat feels good. It feels right. It feels perfect, and though he doesn't know why, he wants to keep it for a little longer.

Dream's not a greedy person, but when it comes to George, familiarity bends just a little.

"Why are you here?" He asks, nudging George. He admires how the wind whips through George's hair, causing it to flop all over his forehead and beneath his pair of goggles, making him feel more real, feel more like good ol' George.

"I could ask you the same," George replies. His voice is a bit overshadowed by the ocean. Dream strains his ears trying to listen, to catch every word, not wanting to miss a second because this, this needs to be treasured.

George needs to be treasured.

"Aren't you supposed to be in London?" He refuses to peel his gaze away from George. There's this growing want, need, to give him all his attention. Though he supposes its that way because George is a streamer; all streamers have this charm to them that keep people wanting more and more.

It's nothing else. It can't be anything else except that George is just captivating and like the rest of his following, Dream naturally just wants more.

"I-I don't know, really," George shrugs, snaking his hands into the pockets of his own hoodie. For some reason it makes him look smaller than he already is; pocket sized.

"I just woke up, and I'm here. With you."

"With me," Dream repeats. George nods. "Weird."

"I've experienced weirder but," He chuckles softly, glancing down at his feet and kicks at the white sand. "This kinda tops the list."

"Right," Dream breathes out, stomach bubbling again with that heat. This unignorable heat stark against the cold that draws their bodies together into a huddle. He can really _feel_ him, his warmth, burning rampant.

"Y'know, I don't usually dream. Like this," He gestures at the scene around them. He can feel George's eyes on him, burning Dream with such fondness, he even grows a little shy now that without a screen, it leaves him bare— vulnerable.

"It's just new to me." It comes out as a whisper, and Dream wonders if George can hear the hesitation in his voice over the ocean. Throat thick, he glances down at the sand, trying to hide how the fire eats away at his face and lets out a heavy breath.

"It's new to me too," George agrees. He whips his head up to meet his gaze, and god, it _burns_. "But new things are alright, don't you think?"

"Sure," Dream nods along, running his palms over the expanse of his arms. "I like new things."

"You do?" Another nod.

"New isn't so bad," He admits softly.

"Are you really ready for something new though?" The question catches Dream off guard, his breath hitching in the hollow of his throat. He scoffs, raising a brow at George.

"What?" He asks, dragging his every word, the pronounciation sliding off his tongue like molasses, and he wonders if George is holding onto every vowel like he is.

"Clay." Fuck. Dream inhales a ragged breath, this time hating the burn, hating the novelty in the way it singes his lungs. He recoils from George, fingers gripping his sides as he stares at him, question lingering in his skeptic gaze.

"What?" He repeats, voice edged. George juts his chin at him. Dream presses his hand to his own chest, mouthing _me_. He nods again. Dream eyes him like he's crazy— crazy for saying his real name, crazy for asking him these questions, _crazy_ for even setting him on fire like this.

"What's wrong with me?" He asks, defensive. It's undoubtedly getting a little weird. Dream tenses, not anticipating the way George reaches out for him. He glares at his friend, gaze flitting between his opened hand and the softness on George's expression he just can't read.

"Your mask," George whispers, his fingers grazing his chin. Dream attempts to swallow, though it's as if a rock lodged itself in his throat. He sucks in a sharp breath, brows bunching together as George's fingertips brush against his jaw.

"A mask? What are you—," He fumbles over his words, jerking his face away from George's touch, the fire in him nearly quenched with the sudden jolt of is heart.

He averts his head the other way, part of him refusing to see the hurt, if there is any, on George's face, and the other simply weirded out to even properly care.

Dream's hand scrambles over his face, expecting to feel the slopes and curves of his features like he did earlier, only to be met with plastic. Thick plastic, and as he runs his fingers over it, he can faintly trace the indentations of face engraved into all of his memories. He nearly chokes on the scoff he relinquishes, the heat inside of him stifling.

"Your mask, Dream," George says. The waves erupt with another boom, violently announcing its collision against the shore.

"Why won't you show me your face?"

"W-Wait, w-what?" He sputters, taking a step back. "No? I didn't agree to that." Dream says sharply.

"We've known each other for years, and I still haven't seen you," George whispers, and _fuck_ , there it is. The hurt that Dream is reluctant to see. The hurt that Dream doesn't want to be the cause of, but he supposes like fire, it doesn't melt but burns everyone in its path when left uncontrolled.

And right now, it's burning them. It's burning him.

"I'm pretty sure I've shown you," He tries to change the subject, unease washing over him, dampening the flame inside. It catches. Flutters.

"No, you haven't. I would've remembered," Pain envelops George's words, the softness on his face hardening with hurt.

"Dream, why can't I see you?"

"You already did," He pushes.

"Dream," The heat falters inside of him. Stills. The numbness, the crash, the squeeze— it returns. "We had a deal."

"I don't think we did," He shakes his head, his chest swelling, inflating with a breath he can't release. "S-Stop being so weird. You're being a big idiot right now." He retorts, bites at him without much bark.

"An idiot?" George whispers back, brows easing on his pale skin, tinted a hazy blue from the lighting.

Above them clouds rumble, darkening the beach a heavier shade of indigo. The waves thunder again, louder, drowning out everything in its path. Dream himself nearly stumbles on the shore, the chill enveloping him as the heat fades. It creeps up legs and sinks into his nerves, weakening him.

"You're an idiot for thinking I'd show you my face, you know."

"I'm not an idiot."

"Yes," An abrupt yell rips out of Dream's throat, "you are!" He doesn't know why he's suddenly trembling. It's possibly the cold, eating him, taking control of his every limb and leaving him a shivering, hollowed mess on the seaside. It hurts, the cold. Just as much as the heat. 

"Dream y-you said," George starts, but Dream cuts him off with another shake of his head and a scoff that cuts through the booming ocean.

"No," Dream repeats, legs crumpling from beneath him, sending him onto his knees. The heat's gone, extinguished inside of him, and there's nothing left to hold onto— nothing left to treasure.

"We're not going to argue about this again."

This isn't just some dream, he remembers now.

It's a nightmare. The inbetween.

"I said nothing," Dream whispers, hugging himself tightly, a part of him fighting weakly for what's left of the heat as the cold nips at his skin. Nips at his nerves. Nips and nips until he's numb to it all.

"Dream," George reaches for him, but eventually he recoils his hand back, letting it drop against his side.

"J-Just stop," He sinks to the ground, hating the rotten feeling fostering in his stomach. His teeth chatter, and his heart clenches. It stings, the numbness.

"Don't," His voice fades, muted by the ocean, by the waves and their violence. He blinks, vision fuzzy, barely seeing George's figure retract. He shakes his head again, letting the cold freeze every part of him once caressed by heat.

And it hurts. The cold, he understands, but the warmth— why? Why does it hurt so much when moments ago, it felt right?

"I ju— I-I can't—," His words echo in his head, spinning, spiraling out of coherence. George is gone. It's just him and the sea and the words that die on his tongue that he can't hear. The cold. The heat. It's numb.

He can no longer hear himself.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking until the end! I tend to write long chapters (this one was short just to get the ball rolling lol) so I hope you don't mind oof, and I hope you guys caught some of the references! If you got any feedback for me or you just wanna say hi, feel free to share them! I'll do my best to reply (: Again, thank you so much. I'll update chapter 2 as fast I can <3 
> 
> P.S. If this does happen to have the slim chance of blowing up, I'd ask you guys to PLEASE not bother the CCs with it in donos. I'm totally chill with them finding out, but PLEASE don't shove it down their throats alright? okay. much love! <33


	2. the dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream resurfaces from his uncomfortable sleep back to reality. Albeit confused, he tries to ignore it, until the remnants of the dream/nightmare actually begins to slowly appear in his real life. Things are about to get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't exactly a new chapter. I decided to break the first one in half lol. So, bam, here's the second chapter which was technically apart of the first LMAO. Anyway I'll try to make a new update soon! I really like writing this fanfic, and I dunno, it just feels great. It's new. Much love to everyone who reads this, and I hope you're taking care during these odd times (: 
> 
> ALSO I have the playlist link if you're interested!  
> [FOREIGN PLAYLIST !](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2vG5zidPJWs5Q0tPWdwMg8?si=YCD7NGKpRNWX6MUaAsddXg)

"Dream? You there, Dream?" He awakens with a jolt, shooting up in his chair when he realizes where he is. Dazed, Dream rubs at his tired eyes to see he's been greeted with a flurry of punches to his avatar thanks to no one other than Sapnap.

"I'm here," His voice sounds hoarse, adjusting the headphones that have fallen to his neck. He pulls them back on with a wince thanks to the newly stifness developed in his muslces.

"Hey. We thought you died or something," Sapnap says, punching him again. "What happened?"

Still blinking wearily, trying to recalibrate, Dream answers, "I think I passed out." He leans forward, adjusting his fingers over the keyboard and mouse, he awakens his avatar.

He tries to remember what he was doing before falling asleep. It takes a moment and a quick study of his minecraft surroundings to realize he's in the SMP— someone was trying to stream on twitch, he thinks, not quite pinpointing the memory of who it is, however. He checks who's online, that being said, it's just Sapnap, him, and Badboyhalo.

"Oh fuck, really? We thought you left because you weren't answering, but then discord said you were still there," Sapnap says, which is followed with a quiet 'language' from Bad's end.

"That must've sucked though," Bad joins him on the screen, taking over from Sapnap to punch Dream.

"You fell asleep in your chair?"

"Yeah," Dream nods, lifting a hand to rub at the knot tangled on the side of his neck. He winces again, hissing softly when he tries to turn his head. "It wasn't a good idea." He admits.

"Right, well that sucks," Sapnap jumps around him. "You missed everything. Congratulations old man."

Dream freezes, suddenly awake.

"Missed what?" He asks, but before either of them can answer, he's exiting out of the minecraft tab and onto twitch to see what he missed. Drumming his fingers over his desk, he waits for the screen to load only to be met with his own disappointment.

"I missed George's... entire stream?"

"Yep, you did," Bad says. "He ended it like thirty minutes ago. We waited for you, but George had to go somewhere, so he logged off and told us to tell you to text him when you wake up."

 _Well shit_ , Dream frowns, whipping out his phone from his sweatpants pocket. He pulls up into discord, tapping impatiently at the loading screen to see the dms he's missed, and rightfully so, George's username is waiting for his response.

Fuck.

_I ended the stream! Hope you're okay. Sorry I had to leave without a proper goodbye ]: I had plans_

_Text or call me when you wake up okay? Sleep early tonight. Being sleep deprived sucks, ik from experience lol Take care Dream [:_

Fuck. He cards his fingers through his sandy hair, tugging lightly at his scap as a heavy sigh escapes past his dry lips. He sets his phone by his side and opens George's twitch profile, guilt twisting in the pit of his stomach seeing the live he missed. On twitter, he's able to find the timestamp where he mysteriously disappears, and god— he runs a hand down his face.

The sinking feeling that accompanies his guilt only makes him feel worse when he sees the subtle way George deflates on his face cam, noticing that his avatar hasn't moved yet whenever he walks by. The pinch in his stomach transforms into a punch, and the wind that fills his lungs empties on impact.

He hates it, the way George's smile is a little less easy, a little less bright. There's an additional effort, but nonetheless he manages to radiate contagious energy— feel good joy— and the stream's vibe isn't disturbed by any means.

He groans softly, muffling the noise with the side of his fist when George does his usual outro, thanking all the donos and viewers for their support with that big, goofy smile of his, and then he's met with black and a replay button to view past highlights.

Even though it went well, part of him can't live with the idea he must have upset George in some way, whether it be small or big. He still messed up.

So, he texts George, _you there?_

"Dude, you need to sleep or sumn," Sapnap's voice echoes into his ear, gaining his attention back to the screen. He manages to catch a message in the chat from the same guy calling him a _grandpa_ and rolls his eyes.

"A lot of the fans in the chat were worried about you, and luckily George covered your ass." Actual concern layers Sapnap's voice— a sudden change from his usual playful banter.

"I agree," Bad pipes in, "Are you getting enough sleep, dear Dream?"

"I am," He lies, though it flows out smoothly, and the answer is enough to satisfy his two friends for now. "Are you _worrying_ about me Sap?" He tries to tease him, his avatar now running after Sapnap in an attempt to ease the pang of weirdness in his chest.

"Me? Nah, that's George's job," he can hear the smile in his friend's words.

"Are you sure you were asleep.... or?"

"Don't start," Bad begs. At that, Sapnap giggles suggestively, using a voice filter to exaggeratedly echo _was it mas-tur-bay-shun_ into the call.

Both Dream and Bad gag, much to Sapnap's own, grody entertainment.

"Ew, gross. Y'know what? I'm gonna rest and make some food. See you guys later." He says, and the duo exchange their goodbyes and watch as the yellow message _Badboyhalo left the game_ appears before carrying on their conversation.

"No you weirdo, I swear I just fell asleep. I don't know why but I just did," Dream rambles. "It's just weird. Probably won't happen again though."

"Okay, but did you at least have a good dream?" He punches him.

"What makes you think that?" He asks, punches him back.

"You were muttering stuff y'know," Sapnap reveals. Dream tenses, his eyes splaying wide. He opens his mouth to speak, though he can't manage a proper sentence as if all his skills in the English language planned to malfunction right this second. 

And it's in that moment, the remnants of his dream suddenly flood his mind, and Dream can't even begin to fathom the overall bizarreness of the few scenes he puts together. The bed with one side of the sheets rumpled. The dark, blue-toned beach. The endless crash of waves pelting against the shore that deafened him. Then a flash of George's face appears in his thoughts— his softness when they meet, the boyish warmth when they touch, and the _hurt_ in his eyes when they fought fire with fire and ended up alone in the distinguished cold.

He leans away from his keyboard and slumps back against his chair, spinning from side to side as he pinches his shirt collar and fans himself, wondering if the seasonal explosion of heat outside is making him go insane. Right, it's the weather. Heat stroke is a thing, right?

"I was?" He croaks, trying to sound unaffected just in case Sapnap is just messing with him. In spite of his hopes, his friend shatters them with a hum.

"It was kinda embarassing. You kept saying 'idiot' and 'I can't' beneath your breath. George and Bad didn't hear you, but you're lucky I did because I muted you hella fast before the chat could tease you about it." Dream winces, his chest splitting in half.

"Really?" He asks dumbfoundedly. He watches Sapnap's avatar appear in front of him again, but this time he has a bow aimed at him.

"Yeah," Sapnap says, hitting him. "You sure it wasn't some wet dream? Did George excite you _that_ much?"

"I mean, I get it 'cos George is hella hot, but like... that's pretty homiesexual of you."

"What? No, no, no, no," Dream scoffs, surging forward to punch the shit out of his friend, whose choked- out laughter fills his ears. "No, stop."

"Were the socks on Dream?"

"Don't— just don't joke about that," He attempts to sound serious, but unfortunately, it only makes Sapnap laugh harder. "Nick, _stop_."

"Why? C'mon, are you so butthurt?" He teases in between gasping for breath. When Dream remains silent, he scoffs.

"Don't tell me— do you actually _like_ him?"

"No," Dream shuts him down immediately.

"Okay then," Sapnap says. "Then why are you so serious? You know it's a joke, dude."

"I know," Dream mutters. But _that dream I had, isn't. It can't be if it's that vivid._ He wants to say, though he knows it'll only end up with him getting made fun of if he does blurt that out. Plus there's no need for Sapnap to know about his dream as weird and unnerving as it is. It's a personal thing only meant to be kept between him and George.

Although, probably sharing it with George isn't that good of an idea the more he mulls over it.

"It's what— what did you tell me that one time? Fan service? Yes, fanservice," Sapnap muses, snapping him out of his thoughts. "It's nothing serious. You said yourself you do it for the fans. George knows that too. Plus I'm just messing with you." He hits him again.

"It's all just a joke, Clay. You told me this before, remember?"

"Yeah. A joke," Dream repeats, swallowing hard. He eyes his phone, gaze lingering on George's chat, waiting for the grey light to ping green.

"Right. It's just a bromance. Nothing more. No biggie. No homo," Sapnap assures him.

A joke. If it's a joke, then why is he feeling this heavy? This dejected? Bothered, even?

"Alright well, I'ma head out," Sapnap says when the silence grows between them.

"Seeya Clay."

"Seeya," Dream mumbles, a _Sapnap left the game message_ flashing in his peripheral as his gaze remain fixed on George's discord id. He breathes in slowly, feeling the weight of his chest expand before it falters due to the exhale he struggles to release.

He ends up exiting out of the game after some time, though he doesn't move from his seat. He brings his phone closer to his face, squinting a little as the white screen glares at him amid the darkness of his bedroom.

As he scrolls through twitter, hoping not to find any weird tweets made about him, he feels Patches coil around his ankles and rub against his calves, her gentle purrs softly echoing in the background.

He needs to get up and just _do_ something. Dream's been sitting on his chair for god knows how long, and his cat's restless, probably wanting some food now that he checks the time and sees its late. With little motivation, he tugs himself up onto his feet.

Patches dashes ahead, snaking behind his door and to his kitchen. Dream manages a small smile, thankful for her to be there to lighten his mood even if it's just only a little.

Patches, out of everything else in his life, is the least complicated aspect he can ever ask for. And for that, he's thankful. Extremely thankful.

Taking his phone with him, he goes on to feed her and gives Patches a little scratch on her tiny head. Once she's settled, he gets himself a waterbottle, twists off the lid, and chugs it.

He exhales through his nose, shoulders sagging as the cool, icey water dribbles down his hoarse throat and even on the sides of his lips on accident. It stings in a good way, but it reminds him of that dream— George. The cold. The heat. The in between.

It's a weird dream to have, he decides. He sets the waterbottle on the counter and slumps forward, playing with the cap between his fingers, examining it for an answer it doesn't have for a question he wants nothing but to ignore.

And yet, no matter what he wants, he doesn't get it. Of course he doesn't on the first try. From experience, he always has to think first— plan. Without it, he's in the dark.

But even so, the argument they have replays vividly in his mind. Despite the shores being loud, and he can't hear himself over the sea sobbing as it viciously pounds against the sand, he can hear their fight— the words he thrown around in a defensive panic.

The pain in George's every word, his every gesture. It's crystal clear, and when his eyelids flutter close, he can picture George staring at him with those gentle eyes of his, and he can visualize the question in them. Another answer he does not have.

And it sucks to remember this argument because as fake as Dream wants to believe it was, it isn't. It sucks because it actually happened months ago in a stream of George's, and not in some figment of his own imagination.

They were on a long 8 hour stream with thousands of people, watching, intervening, and there was a line that George or somebody crossed— and he just _snapped_. And god, he was an asshole to him then. It wasn't just George's fault, no. Not entirely, or at least that's what they discussed right after the live ended.

He remembers it: the thickening tension, the precariousness of their heated words, and the fervor of his annoyance and irritation from the day's stress being averted on George, who only asked him a harmless question that ended up being blown out of proportion.

He remembers fighting in front of everyone, though passive, their fans aren't oblivious to the bitterness, the lack of trust behind it, in accordance to their paragraphs they left on comments Dream managed to find surrounding the clip.

God, he remembers taunting George with this certain pettiness that overcomes him whenever he reaches his breaking point, when the irritation blinds him.

Idiot sears his tongue. Stupid. Dumb. The rise and fall of George's shoulders manifest in his mind. The way he bites his lips, clamping his mouth shut and forces an uneven smile for the viewers. For Dream. It wobbles, but barely. It's almost unnoticeable, but because it's George, he notices everything.

Every little twinge in his voice, the shift in his emotions. How can he not when he cares? Cares too much, but simultaneously cares so little enough to hurt him. He thinks of the beach. Treasuring George, wanting more of his presence to wanting nothing but for him to go away. To stop burning him. To stop making him so damn cold. To leave.

_Why can't I make up my fuckin mind?_

Dream scrunches the bottle in his hand, the crumple of plastic knocking him out of the spiral in his head. His teeth are gritted, and for what? He's so worked up without realizing it. For fuck's sake, he's probably brooding too now that he thinks about it.

He rolls his eyes, already imagining how Sapnap and George would make fun of him.

Honestly, he'd make fun of himself too. Because this— this is ridiculous.

He's about to abandon his waterbottle and Patches in the kitchen for the sanctuary of his bedroom until his phone suddenly vibrates on the counter. One though erupts into his mind— George.

He scrambles for his phone, unlocking it right away and opening up Discord to see the little green dot beneath George's name and an unopened message waiting for him. His chest swells, though it doesn't quite erase the uneasiness building in the pits of his stomach, or prevent the steady rise of anxiety formulating in his throat, George's message still manages to make him happy in some way.

All complicated thoughts aside, at the end of the day, George is still his best friend. Bromance, fake or not, their friendship is real, and of course that makes him happy.

He makes him happy.

Dream opens his message and reads, _yes! i'm here how are you [:_

A smile flickers over his lips. He bites it back, his free hand wiping away the sweat collecting on his neck with the edge of his shirt. _I'm good. Sore._

_U slept on your chair right?_

_Yeah, it was a mistake. Sorry I missed ur stream ):_

_no biggie_ , George types. _We can play later. u go sleep. its late there_

Dream snorts softly to himself as he walks back into his room, Patches trailing behind him. He makes sure she's inside before shutting it after her. He texts George back once he plops himself back down on his mattress, _will do. you better sleep too_

_I will, eventually [: sweet dreams, dream_

_yeah, yeah gn_

He's about to exit out of app, deciding it's around time to bully Tommy on twitter for the day, but before he can log off, his phone rings— George is calling. Dream rolls onto his stomach and props himself up with a pillow, arching an eyebrow at his phone. His thumb hovers over the call button, watching as the call icon washes him with a bright beam of white light, George's name waiting for him.

George is waiting for him, and yet he hesitates. He doesn't miss the way his body tenses, or how his breath hitches in his throat, kept behind the ghost of a frown flickering over his lips. Usually he answers in a heartbeat. Sometimes it takes a bit longer if he's busy, but even so, he's quick to pick up.

But this time around, the circumstances just— it's just stupid beach, the unexpected _dream_ that's stopping him. He can't deny that its bothering him. How can he not be bothered? Who suddenly dreams of being alone with their best friend, of an argument that left their relationship rocky for days?

Especially since George touches him. Not in a dirty, perverted sense (as if George is ever capable of being perverted in the first place), but in the weird, vulnerable way where a single brush of George's fingers against his jaw cracks him open and exposes parts of him he doesn't want him to see.

Luckily, he was able to prevent George from seeing anything, from removing his mask (as rash as it was). But even so, it's weird. Foreign to Dream to be disturbed, to overthink when he's never quite cared about this enough to ponder over it like a prepubescent middle schooler.

Nonetheless, he answers, shoving the thoughts aside for later. It's George he's talking to— not blue beach dream George. It's the real deal, the actual one that doesn't have a clue about what Dream experienced.

It's George, his best friend, that only makes gay jokes for fan service and because bromances aren't dead. He's nothing more or anything less. He's just George, he assures himself.

"Dream!" He relinquishes the breath he's holding when George's soft, accented vowels echo into his ear. Discord calls are always choppy, but somehow George manages to sound perfect.

However, there's something in the background— a familiar noise Dream heard not too long ago.

Waves.

"Where are you?" He asks, but before George can answer his question, his video chat pops up. And there, proving Dream's presumptions right, is a beach. What a coincidence.

"The beach! Or well, a marina actually. An old college classmate of mine asked if I wanted to see the sunset with them, so I joined along," George says, showing Dream the expanse of the ocean.

Dream can't ignore the tugging in his gut; the prickly feeling that festers in his chest while watching yhe screen. It's similar to what he dreamed— the blue-ish gray skies, the pale sand, and the thundering of waves against the shore. It's a coincidence, he thinks, licking at his chapped lips. It has to be.

"It's new, isn't it? It's not my room!" _New_. Dream swallows thickly.

"It's pretty," Dream settles for, keeping his tone unbothered, knowing George can sense wrong in him if he slips up. _It's pretty_ , herepeats.

 _Pretty, like you_. Dream tilts his head to the side away from the camera even though George can't see how his eyes splay wide at the sudden intrusive thought. He bites at the inner wall of his cheek, wondering what the hell came into his mind.

"Why thank you. I'm flattered." Fuck, he said that out loud? He's tired, he tells himself. Most likely.

"You should be," Dream says, trying to play it cool. Play it like he always does. "I ain't ever seen two pretty best friends. The ocean's mad 'coz you're prettier."

"Is that why it's so loud?" He can picture George's shy smile. The thought makes his own lips twitch. Fuck times two.

"Yeah, it's raging. I'd be too, because you're just too damn pretty," He teases, shoulders easing back as he settles into their usual banter. It's nothing new, he assures himself. It's always been like this— a joke.

"Shut up you simp. There's no camera."

Dream's smile falters. He's right. Shifting up into a more comfortable position, he watches George pan the camera a final time before switching it to his face. Dream chuckles lightly watching George's nose scrunch in confusion and tug his head back to prevent him from getting an unpleasant close up.

He's so pale, he glows. He ends up remembering the time Sapnap made fun of Dream for making the minecraft community vote for Glow Squids. _You idiot, if you want something that glows, you already got George. No need to summon his brethren._

"You need to shave," Dream comments, snorting at the faint memory that crosses his mind. George's eyebrows raise. His hand comes up to his chin, stroking the black stubble that's stark against his milky white skin.

"Okay no need to bully me right as I turn on my camera, Dream," George chuckles, and it's then he notices how red his face is. His cheeks. His nose. It's cold, probably. He can tell by the ridiculous fuzzy parka hood wears, but all Dream can really think of is his stupid dream.

"I need to go soon, but I just wanted to say hi," He says, beaming at him. "So, uh, hi, and goodnight."

"Hi," Dream whispers. "Goodnight? You're leaving me so soon?"

"I told you, I'm out with some friends," George's eyes crinkle, he notices. When he smiles wide. "I just wanted to show you the ocean."

"Why? Are you thinking about me?" He teases, not anticipating George's answer.

"Of course I am," George rolls his eyes. "I just think it'd be nice..." his voice trails off.

"Nice to?" Dream asks, clutching his pillow tight beside him, attempting to ignore how his heart throbs. It's a dull throb, but it's there— for the first time, he can feel it thrash against his ribs.

"If we ever meet," George mumbles, face flushing a deeper shade of red, "I'd want to go here. With you. There's a pizza hut nearby so," He laughs softly.

"That sounds," Dream swallows, "sounds nice."

_This can't be a coincidence._

"It does, doesn't it? Well, I shouldn't keep you up," The call's ending before he can comprehend it. He blinks a couple times, trying to keep up, to make sure he's even there.

But it's difficult when George says something so... something that should only be said on camera.

"Alright. Have fun with your friends," Dream says, knowing he can't see him so there's no point to wave. Again, George's gentle chuckle rings in his ears.

"Great well, I love you Dream. Sleep well," George teases, and with that, he ends the call, leaving him alone in the darkness with more overwhelming information to process all on his own.

It's different when its private, Dream decides, when he flops onto his back and stares at the expanse of his ceiling. It's so much different when his face is limited to his phone screen with no audience to watch, no audience to comment, or a game to distract himself.

It's just George and Dream. _Clay_ and George.

And it's different because he dreamt about him.

There's absolutely no way he's sleeping tonight, Dream comes to the realization not too long after George goes. He can't sleep, because if he does, there's a chance he'll face the ocean .

There's a chance he'll face George, and the mess he's feeling now will only grow more complicated.

Dream doesn't like complicated things, but Dream also likes George, and that— that is the difficult part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for reading (: I love you guys, and I hope you stick around! <3 Also, did anyone see Quackity's stream lol I swear it was a whole fever dream LMAOO


	3. unanswered questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream faces the ocean once again— faces George again, but this time, things are different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! sorry it took so long. things came up, but here we are. i hope you guys like this chapter & thank you for the lovely comments. you guys really encourage me to write this ((: <3

  
It's that sound again— the ocean.

He stirs once more, sprawling over his back as his arms stretch above him, the covers crinkling around his shifting weight. He notices it's that same empty ceiling, white, blank walls, and the room is ice cold again, pricking his skin everytime he tosses and turns. It smells faintly of salt. Of fresh detergent. His nose crinkles, and somehow the detergent lingers, filters deeper into his nose.

It doesn't take long for Dream to realize a weight is beside him.

But what jolts him awake is who the body belongs to.

George is sitting on the edge of the bed. Of his bed? Their bed? At that, Dream scoffs internally, knowing how ridiculous that sounds. Although there's this pluck in his stomach. It vibrates inside of him for a moment but it stills once more, and the feeling is gone before he can dwell on it any further.

It's better like that, he decides. It's not like he has any explanation for it anyway.

He twists onto his side, resting his head against his propped arm. He peers at the older in the darl, noticing how his head hangs, his gaze averted to his hands which he fiddles with over his lap. A sudden thought intrudes his mind, though Dream doesn't overthink. Doesn't twist the thought until it gnaws away at his conscious.

No. It's a simple observation. It's how slender George is. How small his frame is. He doesn't really notice it on stream, for George's always clad in bulky sweatshirts and sweaters. But there, beside him, George is in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He can see the curve of his spine protrude through his shirt, the sharp edges of his elbows, and his slim arms trembling with every cool gust of air.

George is delicate, Dream thinks as he presses his own lips into a firm line. George is delicate not in the sense that he's in need of any protection because George is capable. More than capable.

George is delicate in the sense that he's pretty.

Dream doesn't know why he thinks this, but he supposes it's because of the deafening crash outside the bungalow that suppresses any form of proper reasoning. It roars in his ears, leaving unsure if it's his heart that's throbbing or the ocean. 

He's unsure, really. Of the breath that escapes past his lips in labored clouds. Of his voice. Of the words he wants to say to reach out to George. He doesn't know what to do, and that's a first.

The Dream he knows is always a few steps ahead with a plan, and yet he's here— without one.

"Are you awake?" Fuck, it nearly scares him when George's soft words gently peel away at the silence and free Dream from his thoughts.

But eventually Dream props himself onto his elbows, trying to get a grip of himself even if it's a dream because as strange as all this is, it somehow still matters. There's parts of him that actually cares about what happens. In fact, he wants to know why this happens, why it's so cold. Why he can't hear anything. Why his heart aches.

Most importantly, he wants to know why it's just him and George and the blue beach. It plagues his mind; thousands of different answers begin to flurry in his head, yet none are suitable enough to truly explain this feeling of why.

It's just why. Why. Why. Why?

"I'm awake," he eventually finds his voice and gives him an answer, shutting down his thoughts before the silence holds them captive in an episode of awkwardness.

George merely hums in response, and before Dream can comprehend it, the bed dips and George is already on his feet. He watches him attentively, gaze trailing after him as George dons on a hoodie that he can briefly remember from their last meeting in scattered flashes.

This is different than last time.

Dream gulps, surveying him from the top down, and for a second, he averts his gaze away, a brief prickle of heat erupting on his cheeks when he notices how George's shirt lifts up to expose the flat of his soft stomach and porcelain, unblemished skin.

It's an elementary thing— reacting in this way. The flush of his cheeks. The incessant pitter-patter of his heart. The hitch in his dry throat. The shyness that encapsulates behavior of a prepubescent teen, which Dream is sure he has escaped from long ago, and yet it reappears because George is just being George. Existing.

It's embarrassing being this way. There's no need to be shy when the banter they engage in on the daily is full of shameless, dirty jokes, whether it be about fucking someone's mom or micropenises. Let's face it— Dream has probably said the absolute worst in front of George.

And so, it makes no sense how watching his friend change evokes such a ridiculous reaction out of him.

Nothing is making any sense.

"You wanna join me?" George asks, mid-way putting his arms through the sleeve. Dream tries not to let his mind wander (he probably means outside) and make this any more weirder than this already is, so he nods.

He tosses the sheets aside, licking his lips when his feet hit the floor, already guiding him to George's side. Dream glances around the darkness of their room, absorbing his surroundings only to realize everything is the same from his first dream. Nothing has changed; the walls are still white, the wood flooring is pale, and even the wicker chair with the green hoodie is there.

"Are we going to the beach?" Dream follows after George, remembering the last time in bursts. He snags the hoodie off the chair when they pass it, already shivering the second the unfamiliar, coastal breeze washes over him.

"If that's what you'd like," George pushes aside the sliding door. He can feel his eyes on him, watching as Dream awkwardly tosses the hoodie over himself. It takes a moment, and when he's ready, there's an uncomfortable frown on his lips.

"You know staring's rude, right?" Dream scratches the side of his neck, fingers fumbling with the blonde hair that tumbles above his ear. He teases him only for some familiarity, some normalcy— or, well, that's what he tells himself.

"M'not staring," George chuckles softly. It's melodic. Dream swallows, wants to look away but George is too damn compelling.

"I'm appreciating the view."

"Well you're facing the wrong way."

"God," George grins, shaking his head when the confusion on Dream's features remains.

"God what? Oh come on. Quit being sassy," He remarks, shoving him lightly. It's weird because he expects dream logic to apply so his hand goes through George or something.

Instead, it's the opposite. Dream tenses, biting the tease back on his tongue when his palm actually runs down the side of George's arm. He's touching him, actually touching him like he's real. He recoils his hand back into his pocket, gaze flitting away, unable to properly meet George's eyes without his thoughts becoming completely consumed by the buzzing in his palm, and the throb of his chest.

"Sassy? M'not being sassy," George says.

"Yes you are," Dream shakes his head, attempting to act like nothing happened. "Are we going or what?" He juts his chin toward the sea.

He doesn't know why he's so insistent on going. He already knows what happens— how can he forget? But for some reason, something's influencing him, telling him to do this— that they have to go to the sea. He doesn't know what it is, but then again, dream logic is a complex detail he doesn't have the energy to struggle against.

He'll do whatever it wants him to do, unless it's something weird, then screw dream logic.

"Dream." The older repeats, "Don't you realize?"

"Realize what?" He mutters, lowkey wanting to wake up because this dream's dragging on for too damn long and—

"Don't you realize I'm appreciating you, stupid?"

What?

He brushes against George's side, having to crane his neck down at some weird angle to meet his gaze. George simply smiles up at him, rolls his eyes, and with his free hand, pushes him forward, not giving him a chance to process what he just said.

Dream raises an eyebrow at him, but nonetheless, he goes without question and shakes off the weird edge digging into the formations of his heart. He exhales slowly, trying to get a grip, but it's a bit difficult when an exchange like that happens and he's sent free-falling into the unknown.

Usually when they're live, there's time to prepare himself for the stupid, lovey-dovey jokes they make about one another. But now that he's exposed with nothing to hide his expressions that he horribly fails to hold back, it's harder. Much harder.

He tries to ignore it: the spark that flickers in his chest.

Dream trudges after George, toes sinking into the warm sand, which doesn't really help at all to distinguish the flame crackling inside of him. He shivers when another gust of wind billows past them, and it thankfully dies along with his will to make it through the dream (actually, it's been dead but he's not gonna admit it just yet).

Eventually they reach the shore with a silence that rests comfortably between them. The breeze that enables Dream to clutch his sides and his teeth to chatter grows violent. An unbearable chill ripples up beneath his sweater and up his spine. He shudders and glances over at George, noticing that he's hugging himself too as he looks out into the murky blue ocean.

He wonders what he's thinking. That's one of the things about George he notices— it's hard to really decipher what runs through his mind. He's very expressive, that's for sure, but he's better at holding back. It comes easier to him, and it's especially helpful on streams; Dream admires that quality.

But right now, oh how he wishes he can figure out a way to read his mind, to understand why they're here, and how he feels about it because certainly, Dream himself has quite the opinion on this entire thing.

Although there's also this part of him, a small, irrelevant part, that wishes to know if he's feeling the same thing he is. It's wishful to assume so. Hell, it's foolish to assume that his heart rattles in his chest like his own.

And yet, he wonders anyway if weird feelings like these can be... reciprocated.

"You lied to me the other time." Dream whips his head up, brows caving in when George speaks out, his voice cutting through the crash and it's oddly clear.

"Lied about what?" He asks, keeping his tone calm.

"You're not ready to show me your face, are you?"

"What kind of question is that?" His chest pangs.

"Dream, I don't want you to feel pressured," George starts, and at that, Dream's chest stutters. He kicks at the sand, biting back the words he wants to say to George with the underlying fear of hurting him again— even if it's all just a dream.

"But you told me, you liked new things."

"I don't mind them," Dream corrects, "or well, I don't hate them." That time, he's not so sure if its the truth or some form of lousy assurance.

But George doesn't seem so phased by it, "Fair enough. Maybe this is just... too much?"

Dream shrugs, and for some reason he can feel the weight of his mask— it's more prevalent than it was seconds ago. He can feel the ceramic against his cheek bones, the thick metal clasp digging against the back of his scalp, and the ghost of it hanging over his face like some sort of barrier keeping George out.

A barrier. Dream wants to laugh but again, his heart, it clenches, and suddenly there's not really not much to laugh about.

"What do you mean by 'too much'?" Dream asks, peering over at George, who all this time is yet to meet his gaze. He watches his chest rise and fall, wonders if George's heart is beating as rapidly as his is.

Wonders if George can feel the barrier too.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," It comes out abruptly, but it's a fact. Dream swallows, fleshing out his words with additional sincerity, "Yes, I do trust you."

"Okay," George says cooly. He shifts, his hand coming out of his pocket to rub down the side of his neck. "Yeah, okay."

"George?" There's an edge to his voice.

"Is it...," George swallows, blinking rapidly as he licks over his own lips. "Is it dumb of me to feel like this?" He whispers hoarsely, gesturing at his chest.

"Feel what?" Dream plays dumb, for his chest swells and not with that welcoming warmth. It's that chill, curling around his lungs, and squeezing. It's accompanied with a pang, then a punch, and suddenly he can't breathe.

The ocean wails in agony. Louder and louder until all he can hear is the nasty pelt of water against the shore.

"You say these things and I always believe it 'coz it's you," George says, "but now, I don't know. I-I don't know."

"George," He repeats again, though he doesn't take a step to close the distance between them. Dream clenches his fists in his pocket, willing himself to stay put, to just call out for him.

"Why won't you tell me the truth?" He sputters.

"What?"

"Why won't you let me see your face?" George says, gesturing at him and the sea. "You let Sapnap see you. Even Bad has seen you. We've known eachother for so long, Dream. If you trust me," He sucks in a shaky breath.

"Then how can I trust you?"

Dream's tongue melts into putty on his mouth, any word or coherent sentence he tries to come up with sparks but fizzles out and eventually dies along with the breath struggling to gather in his lungs. He wants to say something, to comfort George when he sees the hurt sloshing around in his dark eyes, but he can't. He can't answer him, can't even look at him without his chest aching.

George is so right, and Dream— Dream just doesn't know how to explain without fucking up since he himself doesn't have the answer George wants.

But it's already too late.

"Right," George whispers, nodding stiffly. "Well I-I'm just gonna go. I-I'll see you later," He says, barely even sparing Dream one last glance before trudging back up the dune to where the bungalow is.

Dream watches his figure retreat before averting his gaze back out to the sea, inhaling the salty, crisp air that leaves his lungs stinging as he's met with an unfamiliar sensation that comes with the dark, foamy waters washing against the sandy banks. The cold wind whips through his hair, sending it askew all over his face. It's freezing and deafening, but he can't bring himself to move.

Fuck, he can't think. Can't really bring himself to think of anything other than George in this state. Dream trembles— his hands, his heart, his lungs— everything. His eyelashes flutter shut, willing the panic rising in his chest to settle with a final, ragged exhale. The sea grows louder, enveloping him within its tragic sobs as if the ocean is trying to yank him around the ankles to submerge him into the darkness.

Dream's eyes fly open. Everything is just blue.

And it's still just him and the sea and dozens of his questions left unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry it was so short! next time will be a little longer (: anyway thank you for almost 500 reads! I really appreciate that so much. I’m glad you guys like the story!! If you have any questions or comments or criticism i’m down to hear them! Much love! Until next time <3


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